In Different Circumstances
by de-anon
Summary: "The nights were overwhelming. There were no distractions in the wall of darkness, no bells or sirens marking the passing of the hour. Just seconds that ran into minutes that ran into hours then crashed to a halt somewhere in the middle of sweating skin and gasped breaths, his mind racing in a blind panic." Prumano AU


**I wrote this past midnight, so that might explain a few things. Anyhow, have a Prumano jail AU.**

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In retrospect, Gilbert wished he'd kept his mashed potatoes.

What good were cigarettes without a lighter? He could pretend that sucking at the end calmed his nerves, but all he got was a vague taste of paper and tar and a restlessness that seeped as relentlessly through him as his hunger did.

Here the silence swallowed everything. The occasional sniffle or shifting of a body in a bed. Broken prayers. Curses. Leaves rustling in the breeze outside that Gilbert longed to feel.

Worst of all—the hollow scrape of his breathing against the darkness, the listless beat of his heart the only indication of time in the endless vacuum of the night.

During the day he followed a highly structured schedule. With the resounding clang of cell doors, he knew where to be and how long, from the cafeteria to public service to showers, chains rattling in a loop behind his legs with each step, locked in time with a cacophony of hundreds of other prisoners. The days themselves were not long, but seemed endless in their multitude. But with light and monotony to dull his senses, they were bearable.

The nights were overwhelming. There were no distractions in the wall of darkness, no bells or sirens marking the passing of the hour. Just seconds that ran into minutes that ran into hours then crashed to a halt somewhere in the middle of sweating skin and gasped breaths, his mind racing in a blind panic. Sight, smell, sound, and fear all locked together into one impenetrable prison stronger than the bars that held him.

Someone was coming.

Quiet feet shuffled through the darkness. Gilbert shot up so quickly that he nearly choked on his cigarette.

Silence.

He allowed himself a few deep breaths then swung his feet off the side of his bed so he could creep toward the bars and peer down the hallway. In the distance a little light bobbed up and down, the owner swinging the ray of light in a low arch across the floor and up and down prison bars. A guard.

Gilbert tried to settle himself back into the piss-stained mattress, but found himself lurching upright for a different reason. He barely made it to the toilet in the corner before his vomit splattered across the lid.

It had not been opened.

"Fuck," the prisoner muttered.

The bars of his cell rattled and the ray of light assaulted Gilbert's eyes. He tried to sink into the wall, arms tight around his heaving stomach, the acrid taste of puke thick in his mouth.

"The hell is going on in there?" The guard sounded young. On edge.

Gilbert raised a hand to shield his eyes and shook his head. "You trying to blind me?"

"Yeah, maybe," the guard answered, though he lowered his torch. He stood a moment, made as if to leave, then hesitated again, just a dark outline rising from the shadows. "You okay…?" Something in his voice had grown soft.

"Do I _look_ okay?" Gilbert tried to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him.

"It was just a simple question. No need to be a fucking bastard about it," the guard said. "My piss-poor excuse for a job is to make sure you bastards don't try funny business. So stop it." He swept his flashlight forward and started down the hall.

Gilbert felt the feeble attempt at a laugh rattle at his chest then blend with a cough that scraped the inside of his throat. He shivered a bit then wrapped his arms more tightly about himself. "You sound a bit young to be working the graveyard shift." Another laugh—this time more of a soft sigh—caught in his mouth. Making conversation with the guard? He was lonelier than he thought—so much that the promise of a human voice if only for fifteen minutes eased the racing of his heart.

The guard stopped and turned again. "You do what you have to do to survive. I don't need a fucking inmate judging my life's decisions."

"And I don't need an uppity kid guard judging mine," Gilbert said. He pulled the second cigarette from his waistband—the first lost to putrid vomit—and stuck it in his mouth.

"It's Lovino, asshole. I'm 23 and not some uppity kid."

He sucked at it. "Yeah, sure."

Lovino hesitated again. "The hell are you in here for anyway? I've seen you before. But not in maximum security."

Gilbert pursed his lips in an attempt to act nonchalant. Instead his hands shook until he wrung at them then grabbed at the wall for support. "Shit happens. Read my file sometime. The name's Gilbert Beilschmidt." He plucked the cigarette from his mouth so he could give a barking little laugh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He couldn't manage a shit eating grin, even though it would have been lost to the darkness anyway.

"Gilbert Beilschmi…oh shit." Lovino turned away and swallowed. "Shit."

"Yeah," Gilbert said. "S'funny. They don't know what to do with me. Some piece of shit attorney that I had, and a piece of shit trial. I think they're trying to put me on death row or some shit. I guess they'll let me know. Maybe let me testify again." He watched Lovino like a cornered animal, then sank to the floor again with a sigh.

For a moment Lovino was silent, but then he strode forward and held out his hand. With a click, a flame struck through the pocket of darkness and danced against the gleam of the prison bar. "That cigarette is worthless like that, dumbass. C'mere."

Gilbert blinked, as if the fire was foreign.

"I said c'mere already. Let me light you."

With a rattling breath, Gilbert hauled himself back upright and hobbled the two steps it took to find the bars. He leaned forward to light the flame and inhaled the soothing smoke, eyes closed, before removing the stick from his mouth with a long exhale. "Hey, get the fuck back to work, right? I don't want to have to report you." A thin chuckle escaped his lips.

"Yeah, whatever," Lovino muttered. The flame vanished with another click and he started walking.

Gilbert found the receding echo of footsteps unbearable; silence threatened to swallow him up again. The invisible haze of smoke swirling up from his lungs provided little comfort.

"I'm innocent, you know," he choked.

The light turned on him again. "Yeah?"

Gilbert shrugged and took another drag. "I made some shitty choices. Robbed houses, beat the snot out of people, sold drugs, sure. But…I never killed anyone. And shit, no one will believe me, but you're a decent enough guy, so when I'm dead and gone at least someone will know the truth, right?"

Lovino frowned. "You still have time. Shit changes."

Gilbert shook his head. "It's just how the cards played out." He shuffled back towards his bed and sank into the flat wad of pillow. "I don't fucking need exoneration anyway. Not from this fucked up world or this fucked up system." Another drag.

Lovino did not move.

Gilbert felt himself sighing again as he stared listlessly into space. "You know, under different circumstances, we could have been friends." He gnawed at his lip. "I was turning my life around. Was going to become a cop. Ha, can you imagine. Too bad shit got so fucked up."

"Shit circumstances don't matter," Lovino said, finally turning away for good. "You're here and I'm here. What the hell. Let's be friends. Now go the fuck to sleep."

And, as the guard walked away, Gilbert ground the last inch of cigarette into teh stone wall and felt himself finally drift off to an uneasy sleep.


End file.
